


Small Town Boy

by Mihaexl



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, Yakuza, Young McCree, cowboy jesse mccree, genji owns a host bar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mihaexl/pseuds/Mihaexl
Summary: “I’ll cut to the chase. Boss has sent you on the Shimada case. You’re in, then out. Reyes wants the Shimada clan out. Permanently.”McCree knew what that meant. No flirting. No messing around. No attachments. McCree wasn’t one for letting feelings get in the way of a mission, he just liked to have fun.“Ain’t hurt anybody before.” McCree drawled, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile.AKAJesse McCree is shafted by the Deadlock gang - & sent on mission to infiltrate the infamous Shimada Clan.The object - end the Shimada Yakuza rule over gang warfare.Yet McCree didn't realise how gorgeous Hanzo Shimada really was. Nor how exhilarating & dangerous our dragon boy was.Jesse's set up for failure before he even arrives.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written a FF in roughly 5 years - please forgive I'm super rusty! First OW fic too. Please listen to Dustin Lynch - best musical headcanon for McCree <3

Amber hues crossed against them, the warmth of the desert descending as nightfall took over. The wind whistled up sand particles around McCree’s boots. A lizard in a mad dash rushed over his foot, hurrying to the safety of it’s home now that the daylight hours were over.

“You’re a dead man, Jesse McCree.”

No one was safe in the darkness.

The smooth metal of the revolver was pressed against his forehead. A single twitch from Ash’s self-restraint was the only thing between him, and the bullet firmly inside.

“Darling-”

“Keep it quiet, cowboy.” Her dark eyes glistened in the darkness, the crimson both dangerous and exciting. “You even think about betraying me, and this bullet goes straight through your skull. That is, if Bob doesn’t get to ya’ first.”

As if right on queue, the omnic behind her whirred. McCree let his eyes flick momentarily to Bob. He could take Ash without a problem, but with Bob and his unrelenting firepower, he wasn’t going to take any chances. By the time McCree would be able to get Peacekeeper from the holder at his hip, the omnic would have at least five rounds in him.

“I’ll cut to the chase. Boss has sent you on the Shimada case. You’re in, then out. Reyes wants the Shimada clan out. Permanently.”

McCree knew what that meant. No flirting. No messing around. No attachments. McCree wasn’t one for letting feelings get in the way of a mission, he just liked to have fun.

“Ain’t hurt anybody before.” McCree drawled, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile.

Ash didn’t return the sentiment. If anything, her eyebrows stitched even further into a frown, jaw jutting out. McCree would find it endearing, if there wasn’t a gun pressed into his forehead. It was all part of their relationship. He’d teased and teased, until now there was nothing but discontent on her end whenever she even heard the whisper of Jesse McCree being back in town.

“You have thirty-one days.” Ash continued, “Then Reyes is sending Talon in. You best be finished before then.”

It was a silent threat. Deadlock wouldn’t wait around for McCree to take his time. He was a liability. He was also the best shooter they had. He was a charmer, a con-man, and the best damn shot Deadlock had. If there was someone to take Hanzo Shimada down, infamous Yakuza boss from the East - it was Jesse McCree.

* * *

Cargo ships would never be comfortable. The engines seemed to constantly splutter in the air, fighting against the gravity and winds against it. A few boxes from the storage containtments had fallen free from the netting holding it together, the parcels sliding from left to right, up to down. One thudded against McCree’s boot, catching on his spurs, before dragging it right. The movement caused his ankle to twist, and his eyes to open. With a sigh he shook the parcel free, re-adjusting his hat which had been downturned across his face. He watched his distaste as the parcel slid away into another storage unit, hitting what looked like appeared to be another set of legs.

Which was none of his business.

He wasn’t the only one illegally entering a country.

His mouth was dry however, and his hip flask was empty of whisky. That knowledge didn’t stop him from still pulling it out, in hopes that there may be a few remaining drops. He opened his mouth regardless, and just tasted disappointment. They weren’t due to arrive in Japan for another hour, and he was completely out of both cigarettes and drink. Even with the sunlight drifting through the creases of the cargo ship, McCree was still on American time. This was ample bar time, with slow acoustics, a heavy drink, and perhaps a woman or two on his arms. That thought alone had him groaning in frustration. He’d been cooped up for too long on a bumpy flight, and the need for some actual food, and a breath of fresh air was too much of a tease.

With a sigh McCree removed his hat, automatically smoothing down any creases on the material. It was well worn, and loved - the edges fraying from the years of use. It was the only thing that reminded him of his old life, before the Deadlock gang.

Memories that weren’t worth a single thought these days.

The hat was pushed aside next to his bag. It had been packed in a rush, containing a wad of cash, a deposit for the mission Ash had said, alongside a few packets of ammunition for Peacekeeper. His trusty girl hadn’t left his hip once since he stepped onto the ship. There were a couple of flashbangs stored deeper, near his handful of biotic healing fields. The bare essentials that would get him through the mission.

Proving he didn’t get himself killed first, of course.

The Shimada name had been known for decades. In the underground world, you were a fool if you hadn’t come across the name in one shape or form. They were known for violent organised crime killings. Hitmen who had become powerful icons in gang warfare. They now led the Yakuza, with members scattered globally. The drug trade was predominantly ruled by the East, alongside the manufacturing and distribution of guns and automatic weapons. Everything had the trademark symbol of two dragons intertwining - the Shimada legacy.

It was no surprise Deadlock wanted them dead.

Not only Deadlock, Talon too.

The Shimada’s had had control for too long, that other gangs were itching for a taste. For betraying accords, treaties - anything to get a touch at that power. McCree just happened to be the perfect guy to infiltrate that. He was a charmer, endearingly so. With his country accent and youth, people had underestimated him from the beginning; but his clear shot and speed had proved his worth. He was the lone cowboy, young and handsome enough to take anyone he wanted, but smart enough not to attach and get his heart broken.

Or so he thought.

The photo of Hanzo Shimada sat between his thumb and forefinger. The photo had been a candid, evidently one that was unbeknownst to the actual man featured. Hanzo Shimada had long dark hair swept back into a high arching ponytail, reaching his mid torso. In the photo he appeared to be hands outstretched, awaiting something to be given to him. His skin was pale, jaw strong, but eyelashes long and soft. His reputation precedes him, but somehow the dangerous name didn’t seem to match the face. There was something there, that McCree just couldn’t place. Something off balance, something that made the air feel thicker. As if, just being in one’s company alone was a privilege rare faced.

In frank, Hanzo Shimada was _beautiful. _

And Jesse McCree was going to _destroy him._


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This accidentally became more Genji & Hanzo focused orz
> 
> None of this will ever be beta read so please forgive any mistakes!

Moonlight cast across the Hanamura estate. It was eerily quiet, with only the faint humming of the crickets in the undergrowth. Compared to the busy streets of Tokyo, the family home was tranquil. Hanzo preferred it this way. Isolation was favoured over the hustle and bustle of locals and tourists intertwined. 

There was a flash of movement, and Hanzo turned his head. Kois bobbed at the surface of the pond swallowing down mouthfuls of air and whatever critter had fallen from the night sky. Hanzo leant forward to observe the fish return to the depths, until only his reflection remained.

A lock of hair from his bun had fallen out of place. He pushed it back, for it only to fall back down again. With a huff, Hanzo attempted again, the lock persistent in refusing to be tamed. Irritation coiled within him, and with a rip, the ribbon holding his hair up was tugged out. A few strands were entangled within the ribbon, although the pain was hardly recognised. With his hair loose, it cascaded down his back, and framed his jaw. 

His reflection was softer.

More vulnerable.

With a smack against the surface, Hanzo’s reflection rippled, dark eyebrows pinched together in disdain. He was not weak. His face lost any emotion as he pulled his hair back up sharply, tying the ribbon around it. Over and under, until it was knotted at the top. Even the lock from his forehead obeyed this time.

“Shimada.”

Hanzo glanced over his shoulder, to whoever had called his name. There were few of the clan left willing to stay at the family home with him. Keiji, the son of a long-standing family friend stood there, head bowed in respect. Hanzo gave a curt nod for him to speak.

“It’s regarding your brother.”

“Genji…” The name was bitter on Hanzo’s tongue. He straightened, expression dark. “What has he done?”

“There was a bet in Shinjuku. I believe he has lost.”

Hanzo walked past Keiji, towards the family home, ignoring the comment. Genji was constantly wagering bets he could not stand up to. 

“They’re asking for ¥650,000.”

Hanzo slid open the tatami door, toeing his shoes off by the entrance. This was not his concern. Sojiro, their father, had never taught Genji the consequences of his actions. Whilst Hanzo had received a hit from their Father as punishment, Genji was passed to their Mother. Genji was their son. Hanzo was simply the investment.

“Shimada, please,” Keiji followed Hanzo, “I am to understand they are coming here.”

That caused Hanzo to pause. The male turned his head slightly, not fully looking over his shoulder, but enough to show he was listening. 

“Genji, for the money. He is the bargaining tool.”

The reaction was instantaneous. Hanzo snarled, turning around sharply. The Shimada name was a legacy. The disrespect of approaching the family head-on, was something only a fool would do. Perhaps more of a fool than his brother. 

“Get me my bow.”

* * *

Genji laughed loudly, a light sound that filled up the entire car. He was in-between two gangsters, hands bound behind his back. His shock of bright green hair illuminated as they passed each lamppost. The moon shone down, showing the intoxicated twinkle in his eyes.

“My brother will not pay for me.” Genji lounged back, despite the precarious situation he had gotten himself into. “He does not even pay for his favourite sashimi!”

The leader of his kidnapping sat at the front of the vehicle, and only spared him the briefest of glances. They did not indulge in his conversation, even if it was the admittal of the truth. Their silence only spurred Genji on. Obviously they had not heard of the quarrelling Shimada brothers.

“You are better off visiting my hostess bar. I can get you women, men, anything you want. On the house. A Shimada favour.” The last thing he needed was Hanzo to hear of Genji involving him in nothing but back-alley deals. “How about some sake? I know the best sake bar in town. I’ll pay the-”

A sharp jab to his side got him breathless as the car came to a stop. The shochu from earlier was still in his system, and with his hands bound tingling numbness threatened to course through his arms. Hands roughly hauled him from the backseat, until his knees hit gravel.

They were on Shimada grounds. With a wince, Genji glanced up to the estate. Lanterns burned in the entryway, statues of dragons guarding the entrance. Hanzo would kill him one day for constantly getting into trouble.

“Perhaps no-one is home.” Genji joked, “Just leave me here and I’ll come back another day and owe you guys.” 

A branch snapped.

“Quiet-!” The three thugs around him tightened their formation, glancing around. Genji could already see the outline of a gun in the drivers jacket. If only he had his hands. But he knew how this went. The way it always went.

The whistling wind died around them. Even the crickets appeared to disappear. The way wildlife does, in the presence of a predator. Or a dragon.

His capturers muttered under their breaths, scanning the building. There was no movement. Genji sighed, and rolled onto his back. There was no point fighting the inevitable. 

“Shimada,” the leader called out, stepping forward. “Give us what this coward owes.” 

As if on queue, the gangster behind him roughly gripped Genji’s hair, dragging him back onto his knees. The gravel grazed his skin, and Genji winced at the hand in his hair, exposing his throat.

“Call for him.” The voice was hoarse in his ear, a tenseness that appeared in all of them. Lackeys who didn’t evidently understand what they were getting involved in.

“Never.” Genji breathed, lips brought back into a wicked smile, exposing his canines. “A dragon does not listen to sheep.”

The mans face erupted with anger, throwing Genji’s face against the gravel. The hand in his hair grinded the younger brothers cheek into the stones, their sharp edges catching his skin. The thrumming under his skin a-lit with pain, the sound of the ocean rushing in his ears. The dragons under his skin awoke, arms glowing with their restrained power.

A thud focused his awareness, the pressure on his scalp suddenly gone. The gangster had fallen face down, eyes still open. An arrow was embedded deeply in his forehead. Panicked shouts arose from the other two members, the kick of gravel showering over Genji as they rushed for the cover of the car.

They didn’t make it.

The whistling of arrows cut them down. They shot into thighs, stomachs, biceps - slowing down the gangsters escape. Ultimately they all ended with a single arrow between the eyes.

“I had it.” Genji muttered, rolling onto his front. He could definitely crawl to the front door. It might be humiliating, but Genji had already managed to make himself a hostage for the evening. Genji wiggled up onto his knees, testing their power before attempting to stand. The balance was off, and he still tumbled to the ground. He cursed quietly, hearing the tatami door shift open. Keiji stood there, the beacon of hope in Genji’s disoriented state.

The smile on Genji’s face dropped, as two dark boots appeared in his peripheral vision. 

“You are a fool.” Strong arms hauled him up until he focused his footing on the gravel. 

“Brother-” Genji put on best smile, all teeth. “I didn’t think you would help.” It was a lie, but that they both wanted to hear. Hanzo did not care for Genji. He never had. In Genji’s childhood memories, Hanzo was the bitter older brother. Stealing his toys. Telling on him to his parents. Constantly beating him in every fight.

Hanzo threw Genji forward, eyes alight with anger. “You are a fool.” He repeated the words hissed out behind his teeth. Genji leant against the dragon statue, hands grappling for purchase behind him as Hanzo raised his bow. The strike wasn’t unexpected. The force of the hit had his jaw turned the other way, cheek hot from the brutality of the bow. It would bruise for definite.

Hanzo swept past, until his footsteps had finished echoing down the corridor. The buzz of crickets returned, moths fluttering against the lanterns as the threat disappeared. The bitter taste of disappointment soured Genji’s mouth like bad sake, embarrassment catching up with him. 

The second son.

The family disappointment.

“Shimada…” Keiji’s voice was soft, and it had Genji blinking away any tears that had threatened to form. The lower classmen entered his personal space, hands reaching around for Genji’s bound arms.. With a snap of the wrist, and a sharp blade, the makeshift handcuffs dropped to the floor. “I will prepare the onsen.”

Genji raised his wrists as Keiji left. There was little red chafing around them. Genji soothed fingertips over the sore skin, tattoos now cold. His dragons rarely spoke to him these days, other than for self-defense. The relationship between Hanzo and himself had affected his relationship with his dragons. They coiled under his skin, burning bright but never manifesting.

They still grieved for Sojiro Shimada. 

The only Father Genji ever had.

The Father Hanzo had murdered.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo isn't bad he's just damaged and needs some tough lovin' from a lone cowboy


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so rry for the delay in this chapter! Real life gets in the way and is so annoying orz. Just want to live out my mcchanzo dreams

McCree bit back a yawn, gloved hand coming to cover his mouth. His body still hadn’t adjusted to the time zone differences. Since arriving in Japan, he had found the home base location Reyes had set up for him. Evidently Talon treated their agents far better than those of Deadlock. Talon had provided Jesse a more than average rented out apartment. Although sparsely decorated it gave Jesse an actual bed, wardrobe, and a balcony to smoke on. Perhaps Ash had mentioned his nicotine addiction. When he was on purely Deadlock missions, he was lucky if he was given a tent beforehand. 

So McCree kicked back, quite literally, boots propped up on one another as he awaited his call. Reyes had sent an encrypted message earlier on in the day when Jesse had just awoken mid-afternoon, expecting a check-in. Since arriving, Jesse had laid low, just in case their illegal aircraft had been either noticed in or out of their deposit of agents. 

A small chime perked up, pulling McCree’s attention from pulling at the threads in his fraying serape. Reyes’ face projected in a holographic image against the wall.

“G’morning,” Jesse tilted his hat in the barest of acknowledgements. “How awful kind of ya’ to be checking in.” McCree was aware of the time constraint this mission weighed on him. He didn’t need some reminding, as if it was a rookie at all this. 

Reyes just grunted in acknowledgement, eyebrows furrowed, expression unreadable per usual. 

“If you’re expectin’ an update,” Jesse shrugged vaguely, lips curled up in a sheepish smile. “I been here just over twenty-four hours Boss.” 

Reyes just sighed, pinching the brink of his nose. “Typical. Doesn’t matter - we have new intel.”

“Oh yeah?” Jesse leant forward out of interest, boots uncrossing. 

“Lithe Dragon. Shinjuku. It’s led to believe the Shimada visits this establishment frequently.” 

Jesse raised his eyebrows at that, popping a cigarette in-between his teeth. “And what’s that - casino, bar…?” 

Reyes gave a short cough. “Hostess bar.” 

At that, Jesse barked out a laugh. “Fuck me.” He whistled lowly, removing his hat in a taunt of a greeting. “M’lady.”

“McCree,” Reyes eyes narrowed, point squarely at the camera. “Stay on task. If I even find out you’ve spent a penny of that money on women, I’ll take you off the mission.” 

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Jesse drawled back. His interests lay in more than just women. “Lithe Dragon, huh? Maybe that Shimada’s got better taste than I thought.” He heard Reyes’ exasperated sigh in the background, the smile having not left Jesse’s face once. Reyes was still talking, his voice getting louder and more aggressive as Jesse moved away from the projector to tug off his shirt. No doubt Reyes was calling him every name under the sun - which was probably true. Although, now Jesse had more pressing matters on hand. He needed to infiltrate, and blend it. Which meant dressing more than just a lowly cowboy to get attention in an establishment such as this. The click of the projection showed the end of the call, and Jesse glanced over his shoulder, lips still tipped up tauntingly at the blank screen. Reyes had given him the best mission to die on. Perhaps getting shot in a hostess bar wasn’t the worst way to die. 

* * *

The lights were illuminating. Buildings appeared to spiral upwards into the sky, never ending. Their exteriors were decorated with bright LED’s of all colours, a network of bulbs and lamps alighting each road, lanes and alleyways. A kaleidoscope of colour flashed across Jesse’s face. It brought a newfound excitement that Texas just didn’t have. If this was the future, Jesse would live for it. Trains of people moved in tandem, never colliding, but slipping through on their own individual paths. Jesse was less than graceful in the same movement, occasionally bumping into those next to him, with a sheepish grin and polite head tilt. Most of the time, the locals glanced away and sped away. Maybe they just weren’t used to a loud American. So he kept as much to himself as he could, occasionally glancing down to the digital map guiding him towards Lithe Dragon. 

For a Yakuza club, it was definitely not undercover. In fact, everything appeared to scream a seedy establishment. Jesse paused outside, admiring the blue and green dragons intertwining on the signage. They buzzed with luminescent light, reflecting in the gleam of Jesse’s eyes. Peacekeeper was snugly fitted under his shirt, leather holder wrapped around his actual skin for a change. A dagger had been pushed down his boots, although tonight was for just scoping out the business rather than a full on attack. He needed to see what he was working with here.

“Here goes nothin’.” With confidence in his step, he entered the bar. 

A low corridor greeted him through the entryway. It was dark, with only a few LED lights showing the passage. The floor vibrated with a soft bass, which got louder with every step. Jesse stepped into the main foyer, noticing a curved bar in the far back of the room. Booths ranging in size were scattered across the room, some already filled with businessmen. Women arm candy hung off them, scantily clad, but beautiful none the same. Jesse weren’t one to judge a lady based on her clothing.

McCree tore his eyes off the women when he heard a small cough to his right hand side. On omnic floated there, eyes unblinking at him.

“Howdy.” Jesse tilted his head, dark locks curling around his jaw. The omnic whirred in response, projecting an image of a variety of flags. As it spoke fluent Japanese, Jesse got the idea. He clicked on the American flag, the omnic changing languages instantly mid sentence. 

“Welcome to Lithe Dragon, is this your first time visiting?”

Jesse nodded, before realising the omnic was expecting an actual reply. “Yeah, first time.”

The omnic made a small noise, before producing a small silver tray. “Entry fee of ¥1,000.”

Jesse deposited the money, eyes flicking back to the room. No-one appeared to have even registered him yet, nor did he see any staff other than omnics floating around the room. 

“Please follow me.” The omnic moved across the floor, leading Jesse to a booth near the bar. Dangerous game. “Please sit. Once you are ready, choose from this menu which host or hostess you would like to spend your time with. Pricing is shown as below, per hour.” Jesse could follow, the menu changing to English as soon as it was produced. “Payment is collected at the end of the night, including all drinks from the bar. First drink is on the house. Any questions, Seilgo, the common omnic will be able to assist.” 

“Mighty fine.” Jesse nodded, removing his hat to place on the table. “I’ll get a…” He paused, quickly to flick through the drinks menu. “Moscow Mule.” He tapped a finger against the image of the drink, the omnic buzzing in response.

Within minutes, the drink was in hand, and Jesse was scouting out the exits. From his position, there appeared to be a firedoor at the far back. Opposite that, lay a curtained off area. Perhaps a team room, or for more private meetings with the hosts and hostesses. McCree lounged back, sipping the beverage between his teeth. Women came and went, eyeing him warily. Whenever he managed to meet their eyes, he gave a small wave, most of the them rushing off to their actual clients. So far, he couldn’t see anything especially intriguing about the place that could hold the attention of the Shimada clan. Or perhaps that was it, hiding in plain sight. 

Jesse ended up ordering another drink, and then another. Until the alcohol left him feeling warm inside. Tonight was just for scouting, after all. No harm in having a good time until then. He browsed the menu another time, eyes flicking over the harem of women. On the back, there were a couple of men, although their prices were much higher and less recommended. A few booths nearby had been filled, light laughter echoing in the room. For a weekday night, it was quieter than he expected. Perhaps weekends had all the trade.

With a sigh, McCree ran a hand through his hair, the strands tangling. One more drink wouldn’t hurt, and then he’d be out of here. He’d gotten the general gist of the environment, covered all the exits and could make a plan from home base from there.

That was, until, a large group of people entered, catching his vague interest. He eyed them over the rim of his glass, intrigue flickering. A good handful, five or six spoke quietly but quickly with the omnic who had welcomed McCree in. Their bodies were stout, muscled, under pressed fresh suits. Seilgo lead them across the foyer, and behind the curtain he had noticed before. As they passed, the attendants suddenly became more reserved, heads down, laughter dying. Jesse was aware of the tense atmosphere, eyes narrowing. He was used to gang warfare, and the respect and fear that was entangled in it.

“Hi!” A flash of green blocked his view, the face of a young man filling his personal space. The stranger slid into the booth next to him. The surprise caught him off guard, eyes flicking to the man who had acknowledged him.A greeting was on the tip of his tongue, movement catching his peripheral vision. Another man had entered, and was moving with speed and purpose after the group that had just gone behind the scenes

“Gaijin, no?” The boy pushed further, pulling his attention back. McCree blinked dumbly, before the stranger laughed. “English?” 

“American.” McCree glanced back behind the stranger, just in time to see the curtain flutter shut. He’d caught a glimpse of dark hair, a yellow ribbon- whoever had followed those men, were behind the prying eyes of the public. The room went back to normal, quiet jazz music filling up the establishment. 

“American,” The green-haired boy nodded, extending a hand. “I am Genji.” His English was heavy on the tongue, but recogniseable, and Jesse shook in his hand in return.

“Jesse. Ain’t you a sight,” He whistled lowly, smile gracing his lips. “I appreciate the company.” Genji’s eyes lit up under the attention, before tapping Jesse’s empty glass.

“I’ll get you another, American. Stay there.” Genji was up in an instant, calling over an omnic. He met the machine halfway, relaying their order. McCree watched carefully, although from the tank top and harem shorts the other wore, he tell their were no weapons on his body. Within moments Genji had rejoined him, the drink pushed forward in greeting.

Jesse took a sip, feeling Genji’s eyes bore into him. It was unnerving, the way his bright eyes seemed unblinking, curiority burning in them. Jesse kicked back, one hand nursing his drink and the other slung over the back of the booth. “You work here? Didn’t see your name on the menu, and I’d remember a pretty face like that.” 

He was met with laughter. True laughter, not the fake kind the rest of the hosts and hostesses did for their clients. Genji shifted forward, chin resting on his hand. 

“I am not for sale, American.” There was a smirk McCree didn’t understand on Genji’s face. “Although I am curious as to why you are here.” Genji lit up a cigarette, offering one out to McCree. 

“Visiting -saw this as a recommendation to any lonely, single tourists.” The offered cigarette slotted between his teeth and McCree reached for the lighter. 

“Did you now?” Genji’s voice was quiet as Jesse lit up. Smoke swirled between them as they both exhaled, Genji’s gaze having softened a little. He didn’t look like the type to visit the bar, youthful and dressed casually. Something had the hairs on the back of Jesse’s neck alight. Genji didn’t look threatening to the eye, but there was something that had his nerves sparking - the fight or flight reaction twitching.

“I can show you a recommendation.” Genji shrugged, pulling out the menu. He hummed softly, before glancing up again. “Man or women?”

“Ain’t one to pick’n’choose.” Jesse stubbed out the cigarette butt, and washed down the ashy taste with his drink. He glanced back to the curtain, but nothing had changed. Whatever meeting has happening, was happening right now and McCree could only wait until they exited. “How about we rain-check this, you think about who'd suit me and I'll come back on the weekend. Jet-lag has hit me like a full on bitch. Don't want to miss the full experience."

“How disappointing,” Genji looked up, although there was little sympathy on his face to match the words. Instead Jesse was met with a smile of exposed canines, something feral in the expression that made the warmth of his stomach churn. “Come back and visit me again then, Jesse.”

McCree tilted his head, “Thanks for the drink, darlin’.” He stood, hat placed back on his head as he turned heel. The omnic at the entrance bid him goodnight as he paid up for his drinks. There was something wrong with the establishment. Whether it was the Yakuza run or not,there was a dangerous normality, and it was electrifying. Jesse glanced over his shoulder one last time, only to be met with something that had his stomach drop.

By the curtain stood what Jesse had been waiting for. 

Hanzo Shimada leant against the bar. Genji had twisted in the booth speak to him, although the noise of the music and chatter of clients covered up anything that Jesse could hear. Even from this distance McCree could just about lipread, although with everything being in Japanese, there was little he could understand regardless.

Yet somehow, seeing the man in real life was something altogether. Like when you watched a movie, and saw the actor in their daily lives and not living a role. 

And Hanzo fucking Shimada was _gorgeous_.

In the lowlight of the bar, his skin was warm and soft. The reflection of the lights gleamed in his eyes, and caught the sharp of his jaw. Genji had said something that left the Shimada’s mouth curled up in slight amusement and Jesse’s stomach tightened in a good way.

That was, until, Hanzo glanced his way. All familiarity of his conversation with Genji disappeared, and instead eyebrows furrowed and eyes sharpened. If looks could kill, Hanzo Shimada would have struck down Jesse in that very moment. Genji followed the movement, and also glanced to the entryway. Genji however just grinned and waved, calling out his name. With one last head tilt, McCree spun on his heel and left.

  
To >Reyes<  _ Confirmed, Hanzo Shimada visits Lithe Dragon. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find Hanzo so much easier to write than Genji, orz. Definitely find the chapters easier to write! Please forgive my attempt at Jesse, LOL.   
Please comment if you like it!  
Kudos all greatly appreciated, I am not worthy uwu


End file.
